~ MORNING: ABOARD THE VOIDLIGHT ~
"Your mission is simple, you cross-eyed bitch," Commander Gilson said. "Higher Ups can't be arsed to send down droids, so the sick bastards thought it would be funny to make ME clean up the mess with the only indestructible cunt we have." He leaned forward over his podium, the harsh light of his info-pad casting dark shadows over his eyes. "That's you, by the way. I know you struggle with inference."
Makti flashed her direct superior a smile. "And I know YOU struggle to get laid, you leathery asshole, so I don't mind a bad mouth."
The Ops Room was a small hexagonal ring of metal located in the depths of the Voidlight, as cold and as rigid as the rest of the Sector. Makti, clad in her black, curve hugging suit, stood in the middle of the room with arms folded behind back. The room was mostly dark, save for the harsh light of some info-pads and holograms - the contrast "made recruits more alert", the Higher Ups claimed - but Makti just took it as cheap sci-fi bull. Gilson stood behind a raised podium, backlit by holographic monitors. The skeletal man was taller than most of the crew - slimier, too, in Makti's opinion - and his podium was raised a good foot above the rest of the room; Makti still looked him in the eye.
"Do you know how we treat our elders in England?" Gilson asked.
The alien rolled her eyes. "Uh, that Hell hole of grass on your homeland called DIRT? Yeah, I TOTALLY know all about it."
"And do you know," he continued, ignoring Makti's comment. "What we do to cheeky mouthed little wank stains who don't respect the authority of their superiors?"
"Wow, that was colourful." Makti placed a fist on her hips and tilted her head slightly, initiating maximum sass. A pose she KNEW pissed the old Brit off.
Gilson, for his part, never wavered. Even when the old crook roasted you alive with threats and insults, his demeanour never changed. His voice didn't grow louder. He never sneered. He never stuttered. Gilson was a stone slab in human skin, crafted by a particularly bitter artisan.
But after a long and fruitful career under his command, Makti knew some of the cracks.
"I could have you thrown out a space chute if I wanted. Do not press me, you overgrown Tic-Tac."
"Awww," Makti said. She pouted her lips and frowned, injecting mock innocence into her voice. "Don't make me CRY, Gilson! I simply can't take it!"
"Shut up, hag." And like nothing happened, he resumed the mission brief. "As per your talents - few and far between they may be - I could think of no one better for the job than the eternal thorn in my arse that is you." The hologram behind him shifted, switching to a satellite image of a beautiful sandy shore. The line of golden beach was layered between a sparkling blue/green ocean and a luscious band of tropical trees. The beach looked straight out of Makti's dreams. She could only imagine how warm it was. "The payload," Gilson continued, pointing to a small crater amongst the forestry with a crooked finger, "Is located here. Coordinates will be sent to your transmitter."
"What's in it?" Makti asked. "It's not like, alive or anything? Because if it's another pervy tentapod, I'll take you up on the space chute."
"No," Gilson replied, voice old and tired. "It's far less important, which is why you're here. Held inside the crashed cargo unit is a Tashikki hyperdrive. They're cheap as screws and don't work six days a week, but the Tashikki are very particular about their technology, so we've been commissioned to help pick it back up. All YOU need to do is find it, tag it with a beacon, and we'll beam it back up to base. Simple?"
"As you're sex life." Makti said, saluting.
"You're not very good for much other than sexual jokes, are you?" Gilson replied, his eyes darker than the shadows around him. "I suppose if we're under attack and the invaders have a particular weakness for indignity, we'll call you up. Until then, shut your fucking mouth and head down to port."
"Aye aye, Cap'n." Makti gave him the finger. Damn, she thought, I was sloppy. Maybe I should have brought up his old wife...
The alien turned to head out the door, but before she reached the handle Gilson called her name. She spun around and, to her horror, the old crook was smiling. SMILING. Space-Jesus, Makit thought. Fucking Hell, what didn't he mention? What the Hell would he have to be happy about that WASN'T related to my torment?
"I almost forgot," Gilson said, that icy smile curling up his grizzled face. "From Higher Ups' command, if you 'make another mess' of yourself, you won't get retrieved from the planet's surface."
Makit's face went a shade purple.
"In other words, you'll be stranded," Gilson said, tapping his chin in thought. She'd never seen him so animated in her life. "It's been, what, two months since your last incident? That's a long time for a nympholexian to last without relief. ESPECIALLY one of your type."
A lump formed in Makti's throat; Gilson's teeth glistened like fangs.
"Take care, love."
She hurried away.
~ MORNING: PORT ~
Makti strapped herself in and hit the 'ON' button. No keys for the fancy modern ships.
I hate this so much, she thought bitterly, struggling for breath as the seat belt tormented her ample breasts. The engine purred softly as it gathered heat, gentle rattling the cockpit and the unhappy occupant inside.
A quick lesson in biology.
Nympholexians were NOT humans.
Sure, they were HUMANOID with arms, legs, hair, and pretty faces, but that was where the similarities end. For starters, they had blue skin. Makti was proud of her beautiful, smooth, azure skin, which made her disappear in clear water. But more of note was the fact she was literally BULLETPROOF. She was the perfect specimen for disposable missions in unknown lands, an agent you could throw at any problem and get back without a scratch. That's why she fearlessly defied Gilson as regularly as possible. The medical staff on the Voidlight even had diamond-tipped drill pieces just for her injections. Nymphos were one of the most durable species in the universe.
They were... also the best breeders.
Suffice it to say, no amount of combat training and daily exercise would burn the motherly fat from Makti's skeleton. Despite being superhuman in terms of strength, speed, and durability, nobody ever saw past the head-sized breasts or elephant thighs. She had an hourglass figure only supermodels dreamed after, with fat packed to excess in all the right places. Perfect padding for the lethal musculature beneath. The skin-tight suit didn't help.
So you can understand the cruelty in taking a seven-foot-two superalien, who's hips were broader than some women were tall, and cramming all of her into a single pilot human cruiser. No prizes to guessing who authorised her ship.
The techies gave her Hell for crushing an antenna with her ass on the way in, and cracking the armrests after she'd packed herself inside. The blood circulation didn't last for long. She couldn't even stretch her legs out, and her knees blocked half the pilot interface. In Makti's estimation, her truckload of ass caused more problems than any pirate, robot, or tentapod ever could.
But that wasn't even her biggest body part.
Her crotch twitched.
Happy thoughts, she reminded herself. I'll just sleep through the trip, run to site, stick the beacon, and come home. The suit stays on, always.
She thought of her last 'incident.'
Always.
~ AFTERNOON: THE BEACH, TEN MILES FROM EXTRACTION POINT ~
Makti was in a foul mood.
In spite of her plans, she didn't sleep a wink through the trip, which meant she was too tired to run to site, and she'd forgotten the beacon. So she'd had to run BACK nearly eight miles to retrieve it from the ship, which had decided to park itself TEN FREAKIN MILES AWAY and promptly run out of fuel. Fucking wrenchmonkeys, she thought, they never give me enough fuel! She was tempted to file a discrimination report, but the Higher Ups probably cared even less about her than the techies did.
She sighed.
So hoooooootttt!
Black spandex wasn't a good pick for a tropical climate.
Sweat balled around her temples, and her hair stuck to her scalp. She tried to tug at the collar piece for ventilation, but it was air-tight sealed. Fuck. She was going to lose her fucking mind if she had to stay in this suit for a moment longer. But I CAN'T take it off, she thought, the terrible power of her anatomy flashing in her mind.
"If you 'make another mess' of yourself," Gilson had said. "You won't get retrieved from the planet's surface."
"You'll be stranded."
